


Stiles's Pack

by jynx, snarkasaurus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Stiles, F/M, M/M, Stiles will fuck your shit up, dark!stiles, you really don't mess with Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jynx/pseuds/jynx, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkasaurus/pseuds/snarkasaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of hunters kidnap the Beacon Hills Pack. It does not go as planned for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles's Pack

"Hello fuckheads!" Stiles said cheerfully, a bat resting on his shoulder. He had a large grin on his face and his head was cocked to the side. The members of the pack that could move had turned at the sound of his voice, the others stayed lying against their bonds in agony. Derek growled and Stiles made a hush-hush movement at him. "So, see, you guys took something from me and that's just not cool. I mean, I'm all for sharing--sharing is caring!--but not with them. They're mine. You can't play with them, especially not when you don't even ask permission."

The hunter nearest Derek, crouched so he could see into red eyes, stood and crossed his arms. He glared at Stiles. “Why the fuck would I ask permission to kill werewolves, boy?” He sneered. “Especially from some kid.”

Stiles’s grin turned a little sharp as he oriented on the speaker. “Because around here, we don’t kill werewolves--I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name. I’m Stiles! I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but my mother told me it’s not nice to lie.” 

“Cute,” the hunter snorted. “You can call me Smith.” His eyes flickered ever so slightly to the left, but his sneer never really left his face. “What’s a puny human like you doing around fucking beasts like this?” 

Stiles didn’t even flinch when the arrow whistled past his head and took down whomever was coming up behind him. “I already told you. They’re mine. Besides, I don't fuck all of them." He jerked his thumb toward the rafters. "One of them belongs to her."

Smith looked like he had bitten into a lemon. "I'd expect this kind of shit from those inbred asshats down south but here in California?"

"Hey, we love it all," Stiles said. "What's the phrase, once you go wolf you never go back?"

"Why you little..." Smith took a step forward and Stiles did so in kind, swinging the bat around and bringing it down to smash into Smith's ribs and then his skull; the clear crack of a ball hitting a bat and going out of the park had nothing on the crack of a bat meeting a skull with extreme force. Smith hit the ground, gurgling on blood, as Stiles twirled the bat around.

"Anyone wanna try next?" Stiles asked. "Or do you want to let my pack go? Wow that was Moses sounding. Anyway, I mean, not like that's going to help your cause or anything but it might make you feel better." It was an empty taunt; the pack wasn’t in any shape to help, and he had every intention of utterly destroying every last one of them, but his father had a sense of fair play and Stiles liked to honor him. 

One of the hunters snarled and lunged forward. The bat flashed and swung, and down went another hunter. After that, it was open season, with hunters trying to take Stiles down, and Stiles’s bat connecting with heads, chests, shoulders, and any other body part that happened to get in the way. Allison took out two more with her arrows, leaving four for Stiles. 

Stiles went over to Derek and Peter, the only two who actually looked like they could move, breathe, and talk on their own. The others just looked like a hot mess; they'd probably have to call Melissa for help with a couple of them. Werewolves or not, super healing or not, the pack was in really bad shape. Stiles started pulling Derek free of the ropes first, ignoring his growls and the glowing eyes.

"Yes, yes, big bad wolf, don't need no puny humans to rescue your attractive ass, no, no help whatsoever. Dumb bastard," Stiles sighed.

"As appreciative as we are," Peter drawled. "You missed one."

Stiles turned, hands on Derek's and saw Smith standing up, weaving but standing. "Well fuck me sideways," he said. "Hunh. Tougher skull than I thought. Was pretty sure I caved his head in." He stood, picking up his bat as he went, and swung. As intended, the blow hit Smith in the abdomen, and sent him crashing back to the ground with a pained sound. 

“As long as you’re not dead yet, let’s teach you a lesson, hmm?” Stiles asked. He walked to the nearest hunter’s body and took the knife from where it was strapped against his thigh, and sauntered back to Smith. He dropped down on top of Smith’s prone form, sitting on him and pinning him to the ground, and smirked. “You fucked up, dude.” 

Smith didn’t--or maybe couldn’t--speak. He could groan, though, and he did while Stiles used the knife to slice open his shirt. He squirmed feebly, but Stiles’ weight and the injuries already done to him kept him from doing more than twitch.

Stiles chuckled, a dark, cold sound. He placed the tip of the hunting knife against Smith’s collarbone and dragged it lightly down his chest. A thin line of red welled up in its wake. “You took what’s mine. I warned you that was a bad idea. I could have made your death quick and completely painless if you’d just let them go.”

Smith tried to talk but Stiles saw that his jaw was crushed from the first hit. You could actually see the hinge having been caved in. Awesome. Stiles could barely make out the slurs from Smith's throat but he smiled.

"What am I going to do?" Stiles asked. He dragged the tip of the knife down Smith's chest, scratching lightly enough that blood barely pearled up from the minuscule welt. "Well, I could tell you but that would spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?"

Peter chuckled faintly. "You could slice and dice."

Stiles glanced over his shoulder and reached down, grabbing Smith's left nipple between his fingers and pulling, and using the sharp knife to slice the patch of skin off. "Not a bad idea," Stiles said. "Thanks, Petey."

Peter blinked in surprise, and started to grin slowly. “Of course, that’s a rather sudden and abrupt approach, with no finesse whatsoever,” he drawled, watching Stiles carefully to see what he would do. 

“An even better note. Look at you being all kinds of helpful.” Stiles shifted his weight down Smith’s body, and sliced downward with the knife. The skin down Smith’s torso butterflied open, and blood started to drip steadily to each side. “My father and I went hunting once or twice when I was younger. He taught me how to skin animals.” 

Smith made a desperate sound, looking actually terrified now. Stiles grinned sharply. “I wouldn’t skin you,” he said soothingly, and made another slice across the man’s chest. “You’re not worth the time.”

"So what are you doing?" Peter asked.

"Spelling," Stiles said as he flicked the knife around. "Just a lesson. We do want to make sure they learn their lessons, right?"

"You going to let him go? So he can spread his lesson?"

Stiles looked over at Peter and Derek. "How stupid do you think I am?"

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” Peter said honestly. “I’m just wondering what you’re doing.”

Stiles turned back to his task. “Making sure he learns his lesson,” he repeated. He twisted the knife with a deft flick of his wrist and leaned back. Carved into Smith’s chest and stomach, oozing or streaming blood, depending on how deep the cut was, was _Stiles’s Pack_. “You’re all mine, and that this asshole thinks he can take you from me is astounding.” 

“Stiles, everything is set,” Allison said, coming up on quiet feet. 

“Good. Danny’s waiting in the alley with the van. Get everyone you can out there.” Stiles glanced toward the rest of the pack. “You’re going to have to help them, but I think they’ll all be able to at least hobble.” 

Allison nodded and headed to the rest of the pack, rousing them and helping them get to their feet. Stiles stuck the bloody knife in his belt and knelt down between Derek and Peter, freeing them from their bonds and helping them to their feet. Derek leaned into Stiles, nosing his hair and keeping him close. 

Stiles helped both of them out of the warehouse to where the rest of the pack was, Derek keeping his arm around Stiles's shoulders and refusing to let go. Peter watched him, a knowing look on his face, recognizing the darkness in Stiles echoed inside himself. They would talk later, but not now.

He caught Stiles’s eye then, and had to suppress a sudden shudder at the cold, calculating look there. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a concerned, warm look that made him think he’d seen wrong just a moment before. No one could be that cold and look like that at him. 

Could they?


End file.
